The Hunt

From outside the building, he heard the plaintive horn of a tugboat, the kind that pushed the hundreds of barges which overpopulated the mighty Mississippi River along the riverbanks of New Orleans.

One of the warehouses on the riverfront, then, he thought. He spied a pile of oily rags and picked one up. He set it on the metal work surface closest to him and lit it on fire. As soon as the glow from the flames exceeded that of his lighter, he clicked the Zippo closed and slid it in his pocket. Looking around he saw a door in the nearest wall, still almost a hundred feet away, and headed toward it. He'd taken only a few steps when the shadows from the gloomy corners of the building seemed to rush together with a whisper into a large, amorphous ball, blocking his path. He stopped as it quickly coalesced into the woman from the alley.

She looked more or less human now. Well, as human as these black girls ever looked to him.

He raised his gun and pointed it at her.

"Don't know how you got me here, but this was a dumb move, girl. I been snappin' y'all's necks 'cause I was workin' the middle of the Quarter. A gun does the job just as well. Ain't nothing stopping me from shooting you where you stand, whore."

She smiled at him. As she did, her incisors slowly lengthened into sharp fangs. She raised her hands towards him and the fingers look more like claws, the nails unnaturally long and pointed.

"What the hell?" he whispered. Then he took a step forward and fired his gun at her face from a distance of less than ten feet. As he pulled the trigger, her form dissolved into shadow and the bullet passed harmlessly through, leaving a swirling hole in the dark mist.

Eerie laughter echoed around the room, seemingly from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"Know what I find amusing?" the voice echoed at him.

He spun in place, pointing the gun everywhere his brain imagined motion in the shadows. The fire he'd started had begun to die out, so he scrambled back to the work bench and threw a few more of the oily rags on top of it. As the fire sprang up again, he turned back to the room.

She was standing at the edge of the light, looking human once more, smiling at him with a predatory look. Her green satin dress has been replaced by a black lace mourning dress, but out of style. Something a woman of distinction might have worn to a funeral, only decades ago. He raised his gun and fired twice more with the same futile results: her disappearance in a swirl of shadows.

The voice echoed at him again. "I sho' find amusement in you thinkin' you's the only monstah what's huntin' these streets."

"Who the fuck are you?!" he snarled, spinning around frantically looking for a target.

"Ah'm yo' end, Sugar."

The voice seemed to be coming from his left. He whirled and fired another shot into the darkness. Ghostly laughter rang in his ears.

"Who are you?!" he screamed again, panic edging into his voice.

"Mah name is Josette Marie Chacere, first born child of Marie Catherine Laveau, Queen of The Crescent City. You done transgressed against mah momma, huntin' our people like you have."

"You're a bad liar, you crazy bitch," he yelled into the darkness, "First born child of that colored charlatan would be over a hundred years old!"

The laughter rang out again, then rose in pitch and volume until it more closely resembled the scream of a jungle predator. The sound seemed to spiral around him in the darkness, as if it was circling its prey. When it stopped, a pair of green glowing eyes appeared in the darkness in front of him.

The Monster pulled the trigger twice more as the eyes vanished, resulting in one more shot whining uselessly into the dark and an equally useless click, the hammer falling on an empty chamber.

"What the fuck?" he whispered to himself, as he frantically dug in his pockets for more rounds. "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck is this bullshit?!" He flipped open the cylinder of the pistol, the five empty brass casings tinkling to the ground at his feet as he backed towards the door. His hand was shaking so badly he dropped the first one as he tried to feed it into a chamber. He got one in on the second try and was reaching in his pocket for more when he sensed a presence behind him.

He whirled and she was there, her eyes huge, her teeth inhumanly long and sharp as she smiled at him.

"Le temps de la justice est arrivé," she hissed, and leaped, claws reaching out for him.

Out on the river, a crewman on a barge tugboat leaned on the railing smoking a cigarette, watching the muddy Mississippi slide by under their hull in the moonlight. He took a last puff, and straightened to throw the butt into the river, when he paused. He thought he heard a shrill, panicked scream coming from the line of warehouses along the wharves. It stopped before he could determine where it was coming from or if he really heard it at all.

"Probably some damn fool tourist got lost, wanderin' off Bourbon Street and scared themselves," he muttered and headed back to the wheelhouse.

~~ Sunday, November 1st ~~

"You should be good to go, Detective. Doesn't look like you fractured your skull, just a nasty bump," the doctor had said, while showing him an x-ray of his head.

"That's good news." Etienne was holding a towel full of ice cubes to the back of his head.

"Try and take it easy the next day or two."

"Easy as I can."

The doctor left him with Officer Rouse. Rouse had brought Etienne to the hospital after Etienne had flagged down his patrol car in the Quarter.

"So, you're telling me, you're just walking along down near Jackson Square and someone comes up behind you and socks you in the back of the head?" asked Rouse for the fourth time.

"That's right. Never saw a thing," Etienne said for the fourth time, then groaned as he slowly got up from the examination table. He shrugged his jacket back on and they made their way out to the patrol car parked outside the emergency room. The sun was just coming up.

Etienne sat heavily in the passenger seat and was about to give Rouse his address when the radio crackled.

"Central to all cars, looking for any detective who can respond to a 10-35 on the waterfront."

Rouse looked at Etienne. "Want me to pretend I didn't hear that?"

"Answer it, I'm one of the on-call detectives."

Rouse picked up his radio handset.

"Car fifty-three, en route with Detective Cheval. Address for the scene?"

"Roger fifty-three, respond to warehouse six on Port of New Orleans Place between Julia and Poydras, over."

"10-4, Port Place, warehouse six, responding 10-38, out."

"I appreciate you laying off the siren," Etienne told Rouse, as they pulled up to the warehouse. He tossed the towel and ice in a nearby trash can as they got out of the car.

"Got a feelin' this could be a bad 'un," Rouse said, nodding towards the officer guarding the door. "Ain't never seen Mick looking that green before."

Once inside, he found there wasn't anyone present who wasn't a little green around the gills. With good reason. There were body parts and blood strewn all over the place.

Etienne organized the scene, detailing several officers to search the building and started Tony Weaver documenting the location of all the body parts with his camera. It seemed the victim had been neatly divided up and evenly spread around the warehouse. Etienne walked around the cavernous room himself, avoiding the puddles of blood.

Walked over in a far corner of the warehouse, he spotted something that clearly didn't belong. On a shelf next to a pile of dusty cardboard boxes he spied a tiny doll, maybe three inches tall, made of straw, string and cloth. The figure was wearing a tiny suit jacket with a single button holding it closed.

It was the button from the envelope Josephine had taken from his apartment.

He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching, and quickly stuffed the doll into the pocket of his own jacket.

There was a piece of paper in the shelf under it, written in ancient looking calligraphy.

Thank you for giving me what I needed, Cher. Rest easy, this particular monster won't be hurting no one else. - J -

Etienne shook his head and pocketed the note as well.

Captain Landry arrived not long after.

"Another one?" Captain Landry said quietly as Etienne walked over to him.

"No..." Etienne said, rubbing the lump on the back of his head. "This one is nothing like the others."

"Is she colored?" his Captain asked.

"No, the vic's white. Also, it's a male."

"Really?" Landry looked around at the carnage. "How can you tell?"

"We found his, ah, equipment displayed over there." He pointed to the nearby workbench where there was a recognizable lump of meat neatly laid out in the center of the tabletop.

"Jesus," Landry breathed.

"Detective!" Etienne heard from the far side of the warehouse.

"What is it?" Etienne called back.

"I think I got an ID over here."

"Well, let's go see who this unlucky bastard was," Landry said.

They found a uniformed officer near the far wall, squatting next to a pile of metal scraps.

"Whatcha got?" Etienne asked as he crouched down next to the young cop.

The officer wordlessly shone his flashlight on a black leather wallet lying in a spatter of blood, and reached out with a pen to lift the fold of the wallet to reveal the contents.

"Motherfucker!" Landry swore.

Etienne said nothing. He stood and turned away from his captain and the young officer to hide the grim, satisfied smile that came over his face.

Inside the wallet, there was a gold detective badge with a brass nameplate that read, Det. Ronaldo.

~~ Tuesday, March 1st, 1960 ~~

Etienne stood on the corner of Jackson Square, taking in a deep breath of the sweet, early spring evening air.

Mardi Gras was in full swing, with tourists and locals alike crowding the streets. As he listened to the sounds of the brass bands marching in the parade a few blocks away, he lifted the bouquet of flowers he held and took a sniff. The florist had assured him any lady would be thrilled with these particular roses. He hoped so, they cost enough.

He checked his watch and when he looked back up, Josephine was standing in front of him, making him jump in surprise.

"Lordy, I don't know how you do that, but it's unnerving as hell!"

She smiled at him. "How you been, Detective? I hear you in homicide now. You in the big chair, no?"

"S'right. How you been keepin' yo' self?"

"Oh, you know, doin' a lil' o' this, a lil' o' that. Been helpin' Alice and Lolly find a lil' money to gets set up. 'Tween mah help and a buncha relatives, they managed to scrape enough cash together to open a lil' lunch counter over in Shreveport where the rent's cheap. Best greens in town. Lolly done reconciled with her momma and momma's doin' all the cookin' while the two o' them run the front. There was joyful tears fo' days after that reunion."

He smiled. "I'm happy to hear that. How's the rice and beans, that's the important question?"

"Excellent, if I ah'm any judge. They seem real happy running th' place. Makes me think about settlin' down and open in' a lil' place here in th' Quartah. Maybe a coffee shop or something. I could sell cafe au lait and beignets."

"What's stopping you?"

She smiled mirthlessly. "Ain't no bank in Louisiana that's gon' give a loan to a black girl. It's be a stretch a'fore I could pay cash money fo' a spot in The Quarter, even if they's any landlords who'd rent to me."

"Sorry to he'ah that," he commiserated.

"It's fine, got plenty to do anyway. Plenty o' monstahs out the'ah. Maybe someday I can slow down."

He frowned at that. "I'm sorry I didn't put things together quicker. I figured out it was Ronaldo the night he... that you... well... that evening I saw one of his suit coats hanging on the rack next to his desk with a button ripped off the sleeve. I wish I'd noticed it earlier. It was right there in the detective bullpen for two days after he attacked Alice, but I didn't click the pieces together until that night."

She shrugged. "Ain't too many ways my people can get justice when we's transgressed upon by yo' people. I ain't worried none, Sugar. He won't be hurtin' no one else."

"The cases are still officially open, you know. There's no real evidence tying him to the murders. And they're trying to figure out who... or what... got him in that warehouse."

She grinned at him. "Th' killah of the killah's still at large? Oh my, what ev'ah shall we do?" Then she turned serious. "Want yo' ta know, woulda been harder to take care o' the problem without you. You's the one found that button. Wouldn't a had near as much power over him otherwise. So, thank ya, Sugar."

"Thank you. You saved my life."

They were silent for a moment.

"I don't understand how you do all you do, Miss Josephine, but I'm sorry it came to you havin' to... take care of the problem yourself."

She smiled. "Ya know... hundred years ago, people like you owned people like me. But you's a good man, Etienne. Mo' men like you come 'round, 'nother hundred years or so, maybe people like you might stop killin' people like me just 'cause they can."

"One can hope, Miss Josephine."

"Call me Josette, Detective. Don't think ah mind you's knowing my real name now."

"Josette it is, then."

She winked at him, then she looked down at the flowers he was holding. "Ooh, Sugar, those fo' me?" She reached for the bouquet.

"No, I, uh..." he stammered, sheepishly holding it away from her. She laughed.

"Cher, I'm teasin'. I know what's you gots goin' on. I'm happy fo' ya."

"I'm not gonna ask how you know."

"Girl's gotta have her secrets, Cher."

"You seein' anyone these days?" he asked.

"Nah, I don't really... see anyone. That wouldn't really work out fo' me. Not in the long run. I settle myself fo' a night he'ah and the'ah with a good friend. Like yo'self."

He glanced around, as his cheeks flushed.

She glanced up at the clock set in the spire of St. Louis cathedral. "Well, believe I'd best be off. It was good t' see ya again, Cher."

"You too, Josephine. I--"

"Etienne!" He heard his name called out behind him. He turned and waved, then turned back...

The sidewalk in front of him was empty. He grinned, ruefully shaking his head.

"Oh, my goodness sweetie, are these for me? They're beautiful!" Flo gushed, as he handed her the bouquet. She wrapped her free arm around his neck and kissed him thoroughly.

"Evenin' dear. Ready for Mardi Gras?" he said, pulling several strings of colorful beads out of his jacket pocket and draping them around each of their necks.

"Our first Fat Tuesday together!"

He took Flo's hand, and as they walked towards the parade route together, they shared a smile.

"Laissez les bons temps rouler," he said.

The End